


Breathless

by Miss_Pookamonga



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Astrid makes heart eyes at Hiccup, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Old fic so I guess it's kind of AU now?, One Shot, This is cheesy but surprisingly not as horrendous as I initially remembered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 13:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Pookamonga/pseuds/Miss_Pookamonga
Summary: "Sometimes, he made her breathless."/ An insight into Astrid's adoration for a certain one-legged Viking.(Originally posted in May 2010 as part of the "Getting Used To It" Hiccstrid oneshot anthology on FFN).





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written immediately after the release of the first film, so at the time it was supposed to be set right after that particular movie, long before RTTE aired and definitively set up the Hiccstrid relationship in canon. However, the details are vague enough that it could basically take place anywhere in the timeline between HTTYD and The Hidden World. The only change I made is switching out "Deadly Nadder" for Stormfly's actual name (again, this fic is super old, so DreamWorks hadn't even given her a name yet at the time this was first posted). This is probably the only oneshot in the "Getting Used To It" collection that I actually still like, hence why I decided to cross-post it here xD

* * *

Sometimes, he made her breathless.

It would happen when they went flying together. It didn’t matter if he was riding on Toothless’ back, racing against her and Stormfly, or if they were riding together atop Toothless—somehow the wind could whisk the air right out of her lungs in a way that it never could when she flew alone. It was his closeness in the midst of cold mist and shadowy clouds, his warmth and his self-satisfied grin at having her there with him that would steal her breath away and carry it on the breeze to the glittering diamond stars. It was the simple thrill of being reminded that they had been the first two Vikings to share this extraordinary experience of being suspended in the heavens, and that were it not for him, she would have never been able to know what it would be like to touch the sky.

It would happen when she came to visit him at the forge. She would approach him quietly from behind so as not to disturb him, and would ease herself up onto an empty work table. Her eyes would instantly travel to his hands—which would be blackened with soot—as his fingers would dance across whatever object he happened to be crafting. For a young man who was no doubt still the clumsiest Viking alive in Berk despite his now heroic status, he had surprisingly deft fingers. In them, she would watch metal twist and bend at the simplest touch, as if he had some sort of magic flowing through his veins that could make a weapon or a trinket conform to his will. And then he would suddenly look up and notice her there, smile broadly, and wipe the sweat off his brow with the back one of those magic hands. And the breath would catch somewhere in her throat as she would drink in the lovely sight of his cheeks flushing red, his blackened hands leaving streaks all across his freckles, his green eyes glowing in the light of the fire, and his reddish-brown hair plastering to the back of his neck.

It would happen when she watched him draw. He would take that notebook of his everywhere, and when he’d think she wasn’t looking, he’d whip it out from somewhere inside his vest and start scribbling all over it. She would watch him out of the corner of her eye as she practiced her fighting moves, and something would stir delightfully in the pit of her stomach as the realization that he was probably sketching _her_ would seep through her. Then, when she would stop to rest, she’d sit down next to him and just study the way his face muscles would tighten and twitch at different intervals, the way he sometimes would bite his lip and tilt his head when examining his work, and the way his elbow would jerk back and forth sporadically as he drew the image. And when he was finished and would bashfully refuse to show her what he’d drawn, she’d momentarily forget to breathe when the all-too familiar blush would color his cheeks and he would awkwardly twist away from her, lifting a hand to shyly scratch the back of his head.

But of all the times when he made her breathless, the most powerful ones were the times when they would be alone together, wrapped in each other’s arms. When he’d lift his fingers to delicately brush strands of her hair behind her ear, when his eyes would soften and he’d just gaze at her as if she was the most precious treasure in the world to him. When he would pull her against him so she could feel the heat radiating off his body, when he would let his hands roam across her neck and back to hold her firmly by her waist.

And when he would murmur her name softly before capturing her lips with his own—that was when he’d make her the most breathless of all.

But she never minded. Not one bit.


End file.
